Minor Thing
by C. Bracken
Summary: It had been such an easy thing to do, at the time. It had made so much sense. She was always running back and forth between the villages. Paying for a hotel room was such a waste, in those cases.


A/N: Don't own Naruto, like that's a big shock to anyone.

He knew she'd been there as soon as he opened the door. 

It had been such an easy thing to do, at the time. It had made so much sense. She was always running back and forth between the villages, so often had only time for a shower and a quick nap before she had to be moving again. Paying for a hotel room was such a waste, in those cases. 

And really, it was such a minor thing. He had his own place now, since he'd managed to wheedle the Godaime into giving him a raise. Sure, it wasn't much, but he was away from his mother's tyranny, and he could enjoy the small victories. 

It really wasn't much, but it had a shower, and a fridge, and a futon and small couch, depending on what she preferred—she seemed to sleep on one as often as the other, and he had yet to figure out any sort of pattern in her choices—and she could use it any time she could get away. 

She'd been genuinely surprised when he'd suggested it. More so when he'd given her a key. He'd thought she might refuse for a moment, after he'd pressed the small sliver of metal into her hand, but then she'd smiled at him with that strange mix of smugness and honest happiness that he always saw when he pictured her.

She'd been there, alright. The usual clues were around. The couch had been straightened up, for one, and there was a stack of clean dishes by the sink. He was hungry, so he opened the fridge and took out the plastic-wrapped plate in the middle of the center shelf. She'd made simple fried rice with pork for herself, but this plate was his. He knew because of the little hotdog cut into an octopus that she always left perched in the center. He'd thought she did it to annoy him, the first times she left one. After a while he'd decided it was just another part of the casual taunting that went on whenever they were together.

She'd even cut a little smiling face into it. She must have been feeling very smug about that. 

He ate it first, with every sign of enjoyment.

When he was done, he washed his plate—normally he would have left it for later, but the stack of clean dishes she'd left behind guilted him into doing it now—then went into the bathroom. Inside it smelled like flowers and citrus fruit. She always carried her own soap and shampoo, and whatever else she used, when she was traveling. He'd caught himself a couple times in the past wishing that she would just use his. He'd excused both occasions as him not liking the heady smell hers left behind. 

The big clue that she'd been there, though, was that she'd left her fan propped up against the wall by the door. He wondered about it for a minute, resting himself on the low back of the couch and stretching his legs out in front of himself. She'd probably just forgotten it in a hurry to return to whatever duty she had escaped at the Hokage's office in coming here. He'd almost knocked it over when he'd come in, though. Either she had been in a greater hurry than he could imagine, or she was planning on coming back later. He frowned. Neither seemed particularly like her. In any case, he didn't like leaving it where it was, and moved it to the small table in the middle of the kitchen area. His stomach grumbled as he did so. The rice had been good, but not particularly filling, and he took a moment to think back to the papers on his desk. There wasn't much left that needed to be done today, not more than an hour or two's work, and he had plenty of time to do that before the building would start closing down for the night. 

It took him about forty-five minutes to prepare something, eat enough to quiet his gut, and wrap the rest. If she was hungry when she came back for her fan, there'd be something for her. If she wasn't, he'd have dinner waiting for him. He left for the Hokage's office. 

When he returned five hours later the food was still there, but the fan was gone. He sighed to himself, then wondered why. 

He left the food where it was. The Hokage had sent for dinner for everyone when some minor emergency had required a handful of jounin to rush off for damage control, and the work they were abandoning fell to everyone else. He'd gotten the brunt of it, since he was capable of doing it and didn't have anyone waiting up for him. 

Shizune had phrased it in a much more politely, of course. 

He didn't have to look around the apartment to know that she hadn't touched anything else, and for some reason he couldn't identify, that bothered him. The long day had probably just gotten to him, he decided. He took a minute to step into the bathroom and splash a few handfuls of cold water in his face, then lay down on his futon, kicked off his shoes, and tossed his jacket and shirt aside. Lying there, though, something felt absent. He rolled onto his stomach, then reached up and folded his arms around his pillow, pressing his face against it. That was a bit better, at least. After a few minutes, he rose and exchanged his pants for a pair of light pajama leggings and returned to the position he had just left, briefly wondering if this was what it was like to be married after the passion had gone away as he pulled a blanket over himself.

He awoke some time later to the sound of a door being closed more loudly than it was probably meant to, followed by the dull thud of something heavy landing on the floor, and the creak of the couch as something fell across it. He hesitated, running through a few scenarios in his head before rising to his feet and heading into the main room of the apartment. It was darker than when he had gotten home, and he estimated that it was around one in the morning. There was a dark form sprawled out on the couch, and he approached it softly then settled into a crouch nearby. There weren't any chairs. There wasn't really room.

"There's food in the fridge," he said, then rolled his head back like he was stretching. The form on the couch shifted noncommittally, then sat up, stood, and moved to the kitchen where it was briefly illuminated by the light from the fridge, then returned to the couch with the plate he'd prepared in the afternoon and a pair of chopsticks. The first few bites were hesitant, then hurried, like she had just discovered how hungry she was. In no time she had finished, and held the plate in front of herself, unsure of what to do with it. He took it from her, gently, and set it on the floor beside the couch. 

"You went with the other jounin?" he said. In the dark, she nodded. 

"I thought it would be a good chance to show solidarity with Konoha," she said. He nodded, understanding and agreeing. Not everyone had forgiven the Sand as quickly as those who had participated in the initial mission to retrieve Uchiha. 

"And…I wanted to help," she added. He didn't respond at first, biting back the urge to ask the obvious question: what happened?

"I'll probably be awake for a while," he said when he finally spoke again. "If you want to take a shower, it won't bother me." 

She didn't respond, but he unfolded himself, standing up straight, and started to move away when she caught his wrist. He looked back at her over his shoulder.

"It was ugly," she whispered, not meeting his eyes. After a moment, she added "Kids." He sighed and sat down next to her. 

When he had gone through emotional training, one of his teachers had told him that the training was a shield. He'd long ago tossed that analogy aside, and settled on the nozzle of a funnel instead. Kids getting caught in conflicts between ninja were a common blockage.

In another circumstance, he never would have taken the liberty he was about to. He put his arm around her shoulders. Rather than pull away, she leaned into the contact, pressing her shoulder against his chest. He lowered his head to touch hers. She shifted uncomfortably.

"I can deal with this on my own," she muttered. He didn't say anything, but didn't let go, either. After a moment, he felt her lean into him again. The position wasn't entirely comfortable for him, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Are we really doing this?" she said. "Am I really crying my heart out to _you?_"

"You're not crying."

"Don't start with word games, you jerk, this is serious."

"Yeah, yeah, this happens and there's no going back, right?"

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple. The complication is strictly in your head."

She didn't respond for a long time. Then she pressed her back against his chest, and the back of her head against his collarbone. 

"You'd better be right," she said.

"I'm always right." He pulled at her sash.

"You're _usually_right." She unwrapped the red fabric and let it fall to the floor, her dress falling open by an inch..

"Odds are still in my favor." He shifted so that he was now lying lengthwise on the couch, with her body nestled over his.

"Since when do you make a move before you're one hundred percent sure?" She leaned forward and tugged the ties out of her hair, tossing them onto the coffee table as her pigtails came undone.

"Are you that determined to be troublesome about this?" He put fingers against her headband, but she blocked him.

"You'd better not make me regret it, shadow-boy." She slipped the headband off and let it fall on the couch to be sucked under the cushions. 

"Witty repartee." He kissed her.


End file.
